My Parting Words
by Exangeline
Summary: A rooftop encounter. Slash, JDCox.
1. My Parting Words: JD

**DISCLAIMER: **Scrubs is owned by the fantastic Bill Lawrence and the ABC network (as of Season 8). I own nothing, except an overactive imagination and a fondness for angst, slash and men in white coats. This story began, and continued to be based on absolutely nothing until about halfway through, when I decided I should probably give it at least some sort of plot. It also remained untitled, until the final few lines, when I thought of the similarities between the character's thoughts and the song _Cadence_ by Anberlin, and used their lyrics to give this story a title. They are referenced underneath the A/N.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **As written above, this is a product of pure randomness, boredom and the occasional idea that floated through my head. This is my first attempt at writing a story with any sort of intimate pairing, so I appreciate any and all feedback on how well—or how horrible—I have done with it. But that's enough of my insane ramblings. Without further ado, I give you _My Parting Words. _Enjoy!

Lyrics by _Anberlin._

* * *

**MY PARTING WORDS**

_And if these are my parting words,  
__Grant me this, my last request.  
__Hold me here, until I sleep—  
__If I burn, then I burn for you . . ._

In a final act of desperation, he set his eyes to the stars.

They shone above him—twinkling, almost cruelly, as they enjoyed their front-row seats to the human cabaret playing out on the small, blue-and-green planet. As he watched them in abject silence, he imagined they were clapping—for his misery, or for someone else's happiness, he didn't know, but they were clapping. He could hear it, crashing against his ears, growing louder and louder as the hours rolled by.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

It was enough to make him crazy, but he pressed on. He endured. He _listened._

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

Watching the stars clap in his own, imaginary universe meant that he could escape—from this, from life, from everything that had been going wrong, and from that one person that made it right but he wouldn't dare to think of. He knew the moment he thought this, however, that the real world would drag him back in.

And drag him back in it did.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

There were just so many things he didn't understand. Ever since he was small, he'd felt this compulsion, this _need_, for people—irrevocably and uncontrollably, like the air that he breathed. Not for the attention, not even for egocentric reasons, but just… because. It was something he'd never been able to describe, the same way he could never explain to people why he acted the way he did, or why he was perfectly okay with it . . .

Or why he managed to fall in love with that one person that would never love him back.

He blinked in surprise; mostly because he had so suddenly and so quickly discovered the root to all of his problems, lying there on the hospital roof. His blinding desire to have people in his life—this crawling, _aching_ need for them—was torturing him day after day whenever he saw this person, simply because he knew that they were forever out of his reach.

And for some reason, knowing this only made it worse.

He strained his ears to listen.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

Thing is, falling in love with them was something he could handle. He'd always been able to handle it in the past—watching from afar, letting his imagination whisk him away to some alternate reality where they somehow, in some way loved him back. It really wasn't surprising, anymore, this unrequited love. What _was_ surprising was that he'd realized that he'd loved them all along and that, in itself, answered so many questions.

But raised a lot more.

Still, it wasn't the length of time he had lusted after them for (somehow without even realizing it—although, he had realized it, hadn't he?) or even the fact that he lusted after them at all. It was the one, simple fact that this person was different from all the others he had ever liked, and that he had absolutely no explanation for why he liked them. With the various crushes of his past, he'd always been able to identify one outgoing feature, one thing that made him love them overall. It was the one thing that made them who they were and, as a result, who he wanted to be with. But with this person . . .

"I've got nothing." He muttered, mostly to himself, but partly to the stars still clapping above him.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

He tore apart his mind, trying to find that reason, that trait. Despite how heavily it tugged at his heartstrings to do so, he forced himself to imagine that person's face in his head. He forced himself to bring to the surface every memory, every event, every pain, every delight, every_thing_ that had ever linked him to that person. He cast out his senses, searching through that overwhelming amount of information for the answer he so desperately needed.

He found nothing.

Everything he found—everything that even remotely represented the beginnings of the trail that would lead him to his answer—would just bring up more hardship. It would bring to the surface a billion more reasons why this person isn't the one for him, why he should not, for any feasible reason, have fallen in love with them. All roads led back to that one, infuriating question.

Why?

He buried his head in his hands in a failed attempt to block everything—and everyone—out. There was only so much he could handle, and the burden he carried wasn't one of them. It kept growing, getting heavier and heavier on his back, and it _hurt._ He couldn't handle loving this person unconditionally, without eve knowing why. He couldn't resign himself to his feelings, because he didn't know why he felt them in the first place.

All he knew was that he did, but just feeling it wasn't enough. He needed to know why.

He pressed his palms against his cheeks forcefully, rubbing his hands across his face. He felt like a complete wreck and wondered, half-heartedly, if the stars would clap for him now.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

They were still there, something that struck him as being both relieving and disturbing at the same time. He wondered why—there it was, that damn, infuriating word again—they were sitting up there, still, watching him. Where they cheering for him, or did they want him to be miserable—because he was an absolute wreck. He shut his eyes evanescently, to remove the image of the stars taunting him from his mind.

A rough voice awoke him from his stupor.

"JD?"

There was a hand that clasped his shoulder. He jumped, spinning around as he did so to let his eyes connect with the figure beside him. He found himself staring back at the one person that had inhabited his thoughts for so long, and damn well refused to leave them. He took in the image—hell, he took in everything around him. The shift in the atmosphere, the darkness of the night, the stars still clapping above him . . . and there they were. JD stood with his back against the ledge of the roof, feeling the deep-set concrete hitting the lower part of his back as he pressed into it. The figure next to him stood stock still, blue eyes locked into place with his own.

"Doctor Cox," he spluttered, "What are you doing here?"

The other man stepped back and away from him, only to fall into the path of the lights on the door behind them. His breath caught in his throat as they cast an almost ethereal glow across the other man's face.

So, so, beautiful . . .

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

A million thoughts ran through his head right then, most of which the man in front of him would sneer at if he told him, alongside the occasional mention to how he was a little girl for thinking thoughts so feminine. Still, he lost himself in them, deciding that if he could never have the curly-haired doctor in front of him, then he'd always have his imaginary counterpart. He imagined tracing over every feature, every line and plane and angle of the face in front of him. He imagined kissing those lips, digging his fingers into the other man's broad shoulders, and smashing his body against him, trying to get as close as possible to his mentor's warmth as he—

"—Ya stupid idiot!"

His train of thought was shattered by the exclamation. He blinked in surprise at the older man, who was in the process of tapping his nose and crossing his arms over his chest—a sure sign that JD was going to get it. The younger doctor grimaced.

"Huh?"

The look he received in return was positively lethal.

"I said get the hell inside, ya stupid idiot," Cox growled. "It's freezing out here." Before he could construct any sort of reply, Doctor Cox moved swiftly from his place under the overhead lights, grabbed him by the arm and led him back towards the roof entrance. JD spluttered, still blinking in surprise at the current chain of events that was currently leading him towards the roof entrance.

"Doctor Cox, I—"

He stopped speaking abruptly as he was released. Doctor Cox stared at him, jaw clenching in anger—an action, of which, would normally give JD the heebie-jeebies, but for some reason just made the older man look more and more appealing, probably because of what was unfolding before his very eyes. "Oh . . . Oh my _god._"

Blue eyes locked into his and JD felt himself getting lost in their dark rivers. He knew that was corny, and made him sound like a teenage girl, but he didn't care. In the face of the knowledge that he had just acquired, none of that mattered anymore. His femininity, his issues, the world's issues—even the stars. Everything paled in comparison to what he had just learnt.

But they still clapped for him.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

There was a brief pause before Doctor Cox growled: "What the hell is it, Newbie?" He frowned slightly, in a manner that JD couldn't help thinking looked downright adorable.

"I—I've figured it out."

The cryptic answer gave him a much-deserved eye roll, but he knew the curiosity would get the better of the older doctor. He was right, a moment later, when Doctor Cox grunted: "Figured out what?"

"The reason why!" He blurted. Doctor Cox just stared at him.

"For gods sakes, Glenda, the reason for what?"

JD paused, realizing in that moment that he could never really tell the older doctor what he had just figured out. If he did, it would destroy their relationship, this fragile balance they had with one another. Still, he felt a little bit of the old intimidation he felt around his mentor return when Doctor Cox's frown grew deeper and the look in his eyes became strictly no-nonsense. What happened next, he couldn't control.

It all came out in a rush.

"ThereasonwhyI'minlovewithyou—" The younger doctor clapped his hands over his mouth, stunned. Doctor Cox's glare grew deeper for a moment, seemingly as he deciphered the rush of words that had poured out of his mouth. Then his mentor completely froze. He felt his heart stop beating in his chest as the anticipation of Doctor Cox's next move hit him full force. _Oh, god . . ._

"Excuse me?"

This was not good.

Still, in for a penny, in for a pound, as his mother's eccentric, British boyfriend used to always say. Sucking in his pride and deciding to hell with the remaining dignity he had, JD repeated the sentence, slowly.

"I figured out the reason why I'm in love with you."

He gulped, wishing that the floor would just open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Because there was no way that Doctor Cox would—

"What is it?"

"Huh?"

"What's the reason, Newbie?"

JD looked up. The look on Doctor Cox's face was indecipherable. It was completely deadpan, looking neither outraged nor amused. The older doctor regarded him emotionlessly, probably to pass judgment on whatever reason he came up with.

He took the plunge.

_Clap. Clap. Clap._

"It's . . . everything." He began slowly as the reality of the situation smacked down on him full force. "Everything you do and everything you say, even if it only ends up in you pushing me away. Your brilliance as a doctor, and the way you're so quick to act and so confident, was what initially drew me in, but it was soon clouded by your personality. You may tell everyone you're an emotionally crippled narcissist and, really, you are, but I love that. I love your insults and your rants, because it gives me such a unique insight into your sharp wit and quick-mindedness. I love how you keep pushing me away, and how it only makes me want you more. When I see you, I see the one thing I want more than anything else in the world, and not because it's impossible for me to have you, but because you yourself are so impossible. Your reluctant praise means more to me than any declaration of love and your companionship, even just as colleagues, is worth more than any intimate relationship.

"For so long I wondered why it was that I could never identify that one thing about you that appealed to me above everything else, and that's because there isn't one thing. If there was only one thing about you that I adored, I wouldn't love you like I do. And I know that you'll probably just mock the shit out of me for this, or transfer the hell out of here and decide never to see me ever again, or suddenly stop speaking to me, but the truth is—I don't care. I don't care, because I figured it out. I finally figured it out and no matter what happens, no one can take that knowledge away from me. I'll still love you, even if it kills me . . . even if these are my parting words."

He was panting softly by the end of the speech, breathless from the stream of words that had flown out of him in such a rush. They just stared at one another for a long moment and despite his better judgment, JD really didn't feel scared. Whatever happened, he said what he needed to say, and he had no excuses and no regrets.

_I have no __excuses . . ._

Doctor Cox stared at him wide-eyed for a prolonged moment before turning on his heel and retreating.

_I have no regrets . . . _

His vision grew blurry, his world becoming a blur of colors. Tears streaked down his face.

_Even though he's leaving, and probably never coming back . . ._

_. . . I regret nothing._

Sobs ripped through his body as he was taken by one of the deepest anguishes he had ever felt, because it wasn't okay if he walked away. It really wasn't. But what the hell did he expect, anyway? For there to be some reciprocation?

"Of course not," he laughed, bitterly. "Of course not . . ."

"Of course not, what, Cassandra?"

JD didn't have time to feel any sort of surprise or happiness at the fact that he had returned because, in that moment, Doctor Cox muttered: "You know what, I don't care."

Then he pressed his lips to JD's.

And JD didn't even need to look up anymore, because the moment had him seeing stars of his very own.

_The closer I come to you,  
__The closer I come to finding God—  
__You're a miracle to me . . ._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **Aaaaah! This is so fluffy; it makes me want to claw my own eyes out in the face of its extreme pink. You guys didn't seriously think I'd have Doctor Cox just walk away from him, did you? I'm horrible, but I'm not _that _horrible. I'm thinking of writing another chapter to this, or perhaps a different story, wherein we explore Doctor Cox's view of this story's events. But I don't know. I'm working hard on bringing out the next chapter of MY TRIGGER as soon as possible. Still, if this is well received and people actually enjoyed it, then I'll think about making an exception. Tell me what you think—did you like it? Hate it? Am indifferent?

_-- Exangeline._


	2. My Last Nerve: Perry

**DISCLAIMER:** Scrubs is owned by Bill Lawrence and the ABC Network (as of Season 8), I own nothing except an overactive imagination. Lyrics belong to their respective artists, as credited under the A/N. The title of this sequel came from nowhere in particular, but the Kill Hannah song that I have taken the lyrics from is pretty much responsible for this one.

**AUTHORS NOTE: **I decided that I needed a break from the complicated world that is _My Trigger,_ but didn't feel like starting something new. Realizing that I've promised you an extra chapter not only to this story, but to _His Conventional Experience_ and, if I ever get around to it, _His World on Standby,_ I decided to deliver. Since this was the easiest of the three to write, and obviously the most popular, I took the plunge. I really hope you enjoy it. It's almost the same story, looking through Perry's eyes now, but a lot of reviewers expressed the wish to know his thoughts on the events that played out. It might be a little confusing, since I've changed from past to present tense, but if you take the stories as being individual pieces, there should be no difficulties.

Also, forgive me for any OOC-ness that might be floating around in this story. This is the first time I've ever written a heavy-duty piece in Perry's perspective, and it was most definitely challenging. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Lyrics by _Kill Hannah._

* * *

**MY LAST NERVE**

_I'm never going home,  
__I walk among the ghosts—  
__Of all my former loves,  
__And all my future selves._

Partly in desperation, but mostly out of boredom, he sets his eyes to the rain.

It smacks against the glass—dribbling down the window pane, ever constant, like the type of old and loyal friend he's never had. The droplets mark their way across its length, leaving a watery trail on the surface as they make their decent. From within the warm cocoon that the on-call room provides, he's safe from the bitter cold and seeping wetness of the rain, as well as the overpowering sound of it hammering against the sidewalk as the semi-soundproof windows of the hospital protected their more delicate patients from the ambient sounds of the outside world. Despite the fact that no sound protrudes the four walls that surround him, he imagines he can hear the rain. Its collective howl, however, is somehow lost in translation, and he's stuck on the sound of a single line of water, spilling over the edge and crashing against the next available surface in single drips and drops. It crashes against his ears, growing louder and louder as the hours rolled by.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

It's enough to make him crazy, but then he was never really sane to begin with, was he? So he presses on. He endures, and he listens.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

Watching the rain meander its way down the length of the building means a lot of things, but mostly that he's able to focus—on his thoughts, his desires, on everything that is going right, and on that one person who makes it wrong but he can't help but think of. He knows the moment he thinks this—thinks of that person, that feeling that swells within his chest—that the peace he has established in the recesses of his own mind will shatter, unbidden, into a thousand tiny shards.

And shatter within him it does.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

There are just so many things he understands, to the point where they lose that third-dimensional, almost mystical quality about them. Ever since he was small, he knew how things worked, achieved things that other children his age could not. To this day, he finds it difficult to pinpoint whether it was an escape from the brutality of his family life, or that he simply learnt at an accelerated level, but he was segregated for it nonetheless. It created a divide in him; the existence of two personalities, two aspects of himself fighting for dominance, for control. On one hand, he had a strong sense of self-worth, which often translated into arrogance. He chose to excel, to push himself to the brink, simply so he could turn around to those who were below him and tell them he'd done it better—that he was faster, stronger and smarter than they were. At the same time, however, this feeling was rivaled by its polar opposite. He forced himself to strive for the best, so afraid of becoming a failure that he needed the constant praise to keep him going.

He's tried to understand it, but it is one of the only things that continue to elude him in a self-destructive cycle of reaching out and falling short. It brings out the worst of him, sometimes, but also the best. He wishes to understand it, to comprehend, but he's well aware that it's the thrill of the chase that keeps him so tightly wound. Without it, he would fall apart. It would be like losing a part of himself, something that could never be retrieved. And so he cannot explain it, doesn't want to, _needs_ to,_ has_ to, but can't . . .

Just like he can't explain the way he flocks, like a moth towards the light whenever he sees bright blue doe-eyes, mussed up hair and a crooked smile that radiates optimism.

He blinks; not in surprise, because he's always known where the root of all his problems lies, but mostly in irritation. Irritation because he can so easily accept that he will never understand how he is the way he is—there are so many possibilities, not enough evidence, and too much at stake, like an unbreakable case of metabolic disease that brought him to the brink of his frustration, but enthused him with such strength—and yet he can never seem to embrace the fact that somebody can so wholly and so purely look up to him like that. He feds off of it, like the parasite he is, but he knows he doesn't deserve it. He's the narcissist, the pessimist, the emotionally-crippled bastard who craves another reason to sabotage himself, but _he_ . . .

He is the optimist, the believer, the selfless ball of enthusiasm and doubt, the one who has so much potential but constantly fails to see it.

And damn it all if Perry doesn't want to break him down every time he sees that face.

He strains his ears to listen.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

The strangest thing, he realizes, is that the wish to break him was something he could handle. He'd always been able to handle it in the past—waiting for the right moment to strike, to allow his imagination in the mean time to raise all of the delectable possibilities as they crumbled before him. He isn't a dreamer, not like Newbie, and it really isn't surprising anymore, this need for dominance. What is surprising is the duality of emotion he feels, twin pangs in his chest whenever they pass one another in the halls. It's unusual, its foreign, and it's unknown—it raises so many questions, possibilities, scenarios . . .

But answers a lot more.

Still, it isn't the length of time he has felt this strange combination of wanting to break him, yet allow himself to be broken at the same time, or even the fact that he feels them at all. It is the one, simple fact that this person has so much control over him, so much influence and so much potential to mould him, and that he knows exactly why they do. It's overwhelming, overpowering, like the sound of the rain's collective hymn as it sings to the high heavens it has descended from. He knows why, and he thinks that perhaps he's always known, but he can't understand it. Of all the things to be cast in the dark from, it had to be this. So many times he's been able to unravel the enigma of a soul, but with this person . . .

"Nothing." He mutters, mostly to himself, but partly to the rain still dripping rhythmically in his mind.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

He knows it's futile to search his mind for an answer that he knows he has, but doesn't want to seek. He casts away that person's face as they attempt to plague his mind, and instead of focusing on the unfamiliar feelings that floated around in his brain, he fixates himself on those he knows well. Anger. Frustration. Pride. He summons every memory, every tantrum, every frustration, every pet-peeve, every pain, every humiliation, every_thing_ that makes his blood boil and his eyes blind to a white-hot flash of fury. He casts out his senses, feeling for the familiar stirrings of a train of thought he could live with.

He finds everything.

With others, there is always an underlying frustration, one aspect of them that drives him to the edge—one quality that turns him off of them completely. With this person, however, it isn't simply one thing. It's everything. Everything they do, everything they say. It drives him wild, but never ceases to amaze. Newbie is a conundrum of mystery, of opposites, of duality, of feeling and of insecurities. Everything he knows and has ever known is completely reversed in his presence, everything has the opposite effect. Whenever he attempts to seek out and to ponder an aspect of him that doesn't lead him into a perpetual fit of rage, it throws him into a tangent, bringing him back to one of his most irritating qualities. All roads can be traced back to the idea that he simply finds him absolutely annoying, unbreakable, irreplaceable. The worst piece of knowledge is that this doesn't make him feel hate, but the very opposite.

He groans, burying his head in his hands in a failed attempt to pull everything—and everyone—in. There is only so much silence he can handle, and the quietude that thickens the air is pushing him to his limit. It continues to grow, getting heavier and heavier as if gravity itself has accelerated. He can't handle this silence, the impact of this knowledge and the idea that somebody can annoy him so deeply, but renders him unable to feel even the slightest resentment. He irritates him beyond belief, and yet Perry misses that irritation when its gone. He has never missed anything before in his life. The feeling is new, liberating, _frightening_.

Simply feeling it isn't enough. He has to understand it, to dominate it, to better it.

He stands; his coat billowing around him as it catches the air. He rubs a hand over his weary face, feeling as divided as he ever has, and half-heartedly wonders if the droplets will protrude the silence—just this once, for him.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

It is still there, like that old and loyal friend. He always found solace in the rain, against his better judgment. It represents everything he resents—barriers, limitations, noise, lack of control—yet is as liberating as the day he left home.

He walks out of the on-call room, with still a half an hour left on his break. His eyes scan the halls as he tries to avoid desperate interns panicking over some of the simplest procedures—_like you did,_ the voice in the back of his head reminds him—and finds himself walking towards the nurses station, where Carla sits. It's almost midnight, he knows, and she's waiting for her husband to get out of surgery. He doesn't wish to bother her as she passes the time filing away patient's charts, but in the end she is the first to speak.

"Are you looking for Bambi?"

Instead of being taken aback by her question, a smile tugs at his lips. Carla's deprecating aspect is her ear for gossip—which he figured out on his first day—but it's also one of her strengths. He loves and hates her for it, but more often then not it's the former. She's one of the only real friends he has here, and as sentimental as it sounds, he enjoys her presence. He knows he is terrifying, that his anger can sometimes consume him and he can tear people down with one word, but Carla has always stood her ground, even against him. If Perry is the rain, pouring down onto the battlefield, then Carla is the liquid fire—the weapon of the ancients, the flame that refuses to extinguish even under the full force of his strength.

He nods in response to her, unable to refuse or deny her observation. Like him, Carla notices things. She reads between the lines, partly from experience but also from interest, and she sees what other people do not. Simply because she shares these observations with others and, in turn, soaks up the knowledge gained by word of mouth doesn't take away her brilliance. She listens, she tells, because she _cares_. It's not a game for her, but a lifeline, her form of control. Everybody needs some stretch of control. For him, it is through his interns, his subordinates, and for Carla, it is her gossip, the need people have for her advice and her willingness to give it to them.

So he listens—to Carla, and to the rain.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

This is how he finds himself, moments later, ascending the stairs to the hospital's roof. The rain is but a memory now, as the stars have lit up the sky, purging the clouds from view. He still hears the rain dripping in the back of his mind, but casts it away for the feeling of metal under his fingertips as he swings open the roof door and steps outside in to the bitter cold.

It takes mere seconds to locate the person he seeks, and he takes in everything about this moment in the few, precious instances he has before the figure leaning against the barricade realizes he is, in fact, not alone. The overhead lights brighten his hair, to the point where the chocolate-colored tresses appear almost golden where the light is the most concentrated. Bright blue eyes are fixed on the stars above him, enrapt, almost as if they are speaking to him. His head isn't tilted to the side, as it usually is when his imagination goes rampant at the most unusual of times, but he's lost in thought. It is an expression Perry has hardly seen him wear before, but one he emphasizes with. The look of deep concentration overcomes his entire face as he pushes his brain to the limit, scanning his mind for the answers he most desperately seeks. Another way in which they are different to one another—opposite, even—in the way that he is seeking answers to his questions, whereas Perry seeks questions to answer.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, hoarse from disuse. His conversation with Carla consisted of a series of nods, shakes and frowns as both of them had places to be when Ghandi appeared down the hall.

"JD?"

He clasps his hand down on his shoulder, and the kid jumps in surprise, spinning around to meet his eyes. A look of blatant shock plays out on his face, and Perry can't be sure if it's the fact that he just used his real name for the first time in a long time, or whether it's just his presence in general, but the surprise remains etched on his face long after the rest of his body relaxes. Still, when he speaks, the words come out rushed, as if his surprise renders him breathless.

"Doctor Cox," JD splutters, "What are you doing here?"

He steps back and away from him, mostly to better observe the emotions that flash along the younger man's face. He hears Newbie's breath catch in his throat as he falls into the path of the overhead lights, and in that moment he'd like nothing but to see what he sees, to think what he thinks, to know everything about him. Maybe then, he'd be able to understand.

The brunette stares up at him, doe-eyes wide and impossibly, illogically blue. A thought rises—unwelcome, unbidden—to his mind. _He looks beautiful,_ Perry thinks, before he can stop himself with a collection of harsh words and strong repression.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

He watches him stare, and wonders again what he's thinking. It's undoubtedly something feminine, something he'd most probably sneer at in response. Still, the possibilities rise to his mind and he finds no disgust in any of them. Whatever Newbie's thinking, be it trivial or vitally significant, it's okay by him. Even if he never found out, he would always have this imaginary counterpart. JD looks wistful—that rare expression of complete concentration flitting over his face as he gazes pensively up at him. He feels heat rise to his cheeks when he sees him looking like that, but he thrusts the feeling away, falling back on the most natural of reactions. There's no love lost between him and the quietude, and so he breaks the silence with no hesitation.

He doesn't remember what he says; only that he voices it with ambivalence—irritation and concern battling for control. He almost visibly sees the train of thought in JD's head shatter by the exclamation as the kid blinks in surprise up at him. Perry taps his nose, crossing his arms over his chest, feeling himself slip into his old routine. The annoyance is easy to portray, since he is almost always consumed by it in his presence, but he's unable to keep the lingering anger in place.

"Huh?"

The younger man looks up at him, almost worriedly. He glares in response, summoning all of his emotion to the forefront. As the words come back to him, they volley out of his mouth straight from his brain: "I said get the hell inside, ya stupid idiot." The words are meant to come out as harsh, but the sharpness that usually packs that extra punch is missing from his voice. "It's freezing out here."

Before he can contemplate what he's doing, Perry grabs him by the arm, leading him back towards the roof entrance. Newbie splutters, still blinking in surprise, but it's still a few moments before he finds his voice.

"Doctor Cox, I—"

JD trails off on his own accord as he releases him. He feels his jaw clench in anger, but his wrath is quick to fade when he sees the absolute shock that crosses the young doctor's face. "Oh. Oh my _god._"

He says nothing after that, the silence drilling into Perry like a hole in the head. He purges it from his mind.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

Curiosity wins out as he growls: "What the hell is it, Newbie?" He feels himself frown, only to realize that the gesture intensifies the blush now spread out across Newbie's cheeks. _What in the name—?_

"I—I've figured it out."

He rolls his eyes at the cryptic answer, but is soon to succumb to the curiosity that threatens to overtake him. He grunts: "Figured out what?"

"The reason why!"

He stares. For a long while, that's all he does, until the irritation begins to erode him. "For gods sakes, Glenda!" He bellows eventually. "The reason for _what_?"

The dark-haired man in front of him pauses, as if at war with his own emotion. Despite the fact that he can feel the intensity of his frustration rise dangerously close to breaking point, he allows Newbie these few, precious seconds of thought. His frown grows deeper, however, as he fixates his coldest stare onto the spluttering doctor. What happens next, however, is something he has somehow failed to anticipate, and Perry Cox anticipates _everything,_ all the time.

"ThereasonwhyI'minlovewithyou—"

JD claps his hands to his mouth, but he hardly notices it as his mind is set on deciphering the rush of words that has just poured out of his mouth. Then he freezes.

_There's no way I heard that right._

"Excuse me?"

After a pregnant silence, he repeats his sentence. Slowly. "I figured out the reason why I'm in love with you."

In that moment, upon realizing that his first guess is, indeed correct—because since when has he ever been wrong?—Perry Cox feels a myriad of feelings creep up on him at once. The first is blatant shock, which stays with him even as most of it translates into a deep contemplation as he considers the level of stark terror that bleeds through Newbie's expression. Contemplation makes way to the slight feeling of irritation he can't help but feel as he inwardly blames him for putting him in this situation. It's only after he speaks that he realizes how much he needs to know the answer to the question he has just asked—how vital it is, to him and to everything.

"What is it?"

"Huh?"

He stares at him, expressionlessly, unable to feel even the slightest stirrings of anger. Almost desperately, he repeats: "What's the reason, Newbie?"

The silence didn't last long.

_Drip. Drop. Drip._

As JD speaks—about him, about love, about reluctant praise and parting words—Perry realizes that he's talking as if he himself is seeing everything clearly for the first time. _Perhaps he is,_ he thinks after a moment, while listening to the rush of words that pass out of his mouth. He remains uncharacteristically silent throughout the duration of his speech, unable—and, in some ways, unwilling—to stop the flow of words that fill the quietude in his head with light, sound and colour. He lists Perry's strengths, and his weaknesses, the weight that this knowledge has on him and how nobody can take that away from him. He's panting softly by the end of it, breathless from the stream of words that echo throughout the night, lingering between them as they stare at one another. He doesn't say anything—after all, what do you say to someone who just bared their soul to you?

What do you _do?_

_Nothing, _he realizes as the reality of the situation sinks in. There's nothing he can do. Not yet, anyway.

So he turns on his heel and retreats, only to come to a complete stop at the roof door as he stares at the metallic handle in front of him. Thoughts plague his mind, of feelings he dare not to feel, of duality, of annoyance, of arrogance, of everything and nothing as his last nerve snaps and falls into oblivion. The last thing he remembers thinking echoes through the recesses of his mind as he slowly turns around.

_Damn Newbie._

He spins, only to see the younger man staring at the floor, tear tracks making their way down his ashen face. In that moment, it looks as pale and translucent as glass, his tears reminiscent of the rain that falls outside his window. He feels a stab of guilt, amongst the barrage of feelings that take a hold of him. _What the hell does he expect? _He thinks in a flurry of passion, his anger inspired by the look of complete devastation that plays out on the other man's face. _For there to be some reciprocation? _

From the back of his mind—unwelcome and unwanted, a small voice speaks. _But there is._

Reluctantly, he responds to it. _I know._

Before he can speak, or think of anything to say, Newbie mutters something under his breath and releases a laugh so full of bitterness that Perry's anger dissolves in the air around him, and is immediately replaced by that vast, barren feeling of guilt.

"Of course not . . ."

"Of course not what, Cassandra?"

He doesn't allow him the time to feel any sort of surprise or happiness or whatever the hell he feels in Perry's presence. Instead, he mutters: "You know what? I don't care."

Then he steps forward, into Newbie's personal bubble, and presses his lips to JD's.

Later on, as he sits on his sofa amidst the warmth of his apartment, with JD curled up on one side of him, and his son sleeping soundly on the other, he can't help but think that maybe, just maybe, he doesn't have to understand what this is to be happy.

Outside, the rain hammers on.

_This is the final straw,  
__I'll take you by the throat—  
__I'll shake you like a doll,  
__Just feed my starving heart._

* * *

**AUTHORS NOTE II: **Again with the fluff! I don't know what's wrong with me. I think it might be all of the angst of _My Trigger_ that's left me desiring something light and fluffy. Of course, this story does have its fair share of angst, as the first half is evidence to, but it all turned out alright in the end. As for whether or not I should continue this—I'd find it a little odd to write more chapters that include the repetition that is so prominent in these two, but I might think of writing a sequel, where we explore JD and Perry's budding relationship. I'm not sure yet. But that's all from me. Feedback is much loved.

-- _Exangeline._


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